Licked by the Flame
by GratiaPlena
Summary: Rizzles AU set in the world of Game of Thrones season one. Flame is a prostitute of Dothraki descent and legendary fame. When Lord Varys hears that she has returned to King's Landing, he sees in her the perfect (lethal) wedding gift to Dorothea Targaryen, sister of the Last Dragon and soon-to-be Dothraki Khaleesi. This story is Rizzles, M&M-rated & guaranteed to melt in your hand.
1. Step 1: Gather the Tinder

_For you I was a flame_

_Love is a losing game_

_Five story fire as you came_

_Love is a losing game_

-Amy Winehouse

**Step 1: Gather the Tinder**

The light of the late afternoon was shining through the stained glass window panes of the tower chamber. It shone in colourful patterns onto the most influential men of Westeros: the Small Council.

"Honour? I want her dead!" said King Robert Baratheon, slamming his metal cup onto the old oak table. "She may be a girl and she may be harmless now , but if she becomes with child and the gods grant Dorothea Targaryen a boy, there will be a Targaryen leading a Dothraki army. This is no time for honour - I have seven kingdoms to rule. I want her dead. Varys?"

"Yes, my King?" Lord Varys, who was often nicknamed The Spider, lifted his bald round head to look into the eyes of his superior.

"See to it that it's done."

"Of course, my King."

"Good. I don't want to hear another word about this until it's done."

The men discussed various other political matters, but Lord Varys was only listening with half of his attention. The other half was busy making a plan to get rid of this Targaryen woman. A rare treat!  
Of course, he could just send a hedge knight or a wine poisoner or something else that was as boring as it was banal. Lord Varys was a great lover of the art of intrigue, however, and he enjoyed to organise an elaborate and complex plan that resulted in someone's untimely but beautifully construed death.  
By the time that the King dismissed the Small Council, he had hatched just such an intriguing plan and he asked Lord Baelish to stay behind and discuss an important matter with him.

When he was sure they were alone, he began: "A little bird tells me that the legendary Flame has returned to King's Landing."

"Has it told you that, indeed?" Lord Baelish straightened the mockingbird pin on his lapel.

"Hm. And I assume that if it's true, and if she is as good a prostitute as legend says she is - she must be in your employment?"

Lord Baelish smiled. "Now, now. You flatter me, Lord Varys!"

"Flattery has gotten me far in life. Now tell me..._is_ she as good as they say she is?

...is she _**what**_ they say she is?"

"And what do 'they' say exactly?"

"They say that she's Dothraki born, and they say she's a Dragon Whisperer."

"It is what they say," agreed Lord Baelish, "but since there are no dragons anymore, such a theory is hard to put to the test."

"Quite. But they also say that she has the legendary Gift of Fire?"

"And they would be quite right." He looked around the room to ascertain that they were alone and continued: "She spontaneously bursts into fire when she's in the throes of passion, burning the bed and the person she's with...If that's what they say, then yes; what they say would be accurate."

"I'm in awe. That must be a sight to be seen..." He placed his hand on Lord Baelish arm. "From a safe distance, of course. Pardon the curiosity, but how is a girl that makes your clients go up in flames profitable to keep in your… establishments?"

"I trust I can speak frankly? We're both men of the world?" They shared an insincere smile and Lord Baelish took his arm out of Lord Varys' grip. "Most clients are interested in using her skills on someone else entirely. And they often return for her service. It is a rather pleasant way to get rid of someone, is it not?"

"Hm. I suppose. I wouldn't quite know."

"Of course not, my apologies. In any case, it probably eases their conscience somewhat. And there are some clients who use her for their own pleasure."

Lord Varys gasped. "No..! You don't say!"

"Oh yes! And what a way to go. It definitely beats jumping off the Old Gate with a rope around your neck. And you know, those that do use her … shall we say… services for themselves mostly leave us their entire will before they blissfully go up in smoke. So I'm sure you can gather how profitable she is for us." He looked at Lord Varys. "What do you have in mind for her? I take it you are not asking for yourself?"

Lord Varys chose to ignore this blatant sneer at his impotency. "No… No I was thinking what a considerate wedding present a handmaiden would be for a foreign princess - a handmaiden that is a native Dothraki but also speaks the Common Tongue."

"Quite!" Lord Baelish' eyes lit up. "So you mean to send Flame as a wedding present to Dorothea Targaryen?"

"If she agrees to our terms."

"And you have the means to make her agree to your...our... terms?"

"Hm." The Spider pressed the fingertips of his hands together and nodded thoughtfully. "Indeed, I think I do."

_A/N: I'm not the only person to ship Rizzles and fangirl over Game of Thrones, right?  
The next step when building a fire: gathering the kindle. We meet Flame and her special skills ;-)_


	2. Step 2: Gather the Kindling

**Step 2 - Gather the Kindling**

"Ah, you keep her close at hand!" Lord Varys said as they stepped into the brothel in which Lord Baelish also had his office as Master of the Coin. "She must be something special."

Lord Baelish didn't reply, but only smiled. "Jilya," he said to a scantily clad girl that walked up to them, "tell Flame that she has a client and tell her to wear old clothes. That is to say: inexpensive clothes. Off you go."

He led them both into his office that held a big oak desk, a couple of chairs and a large four poster bed. They discussed various political affairs until there was a knock on the door and upon Lord Baelish' "Enter!" a tall, olive skinned woman walked in with a brusque stride. She wore a white blouse, dark trousers and sturdy boots. Her dark hair was loosely braided.

Lord Baelish looked at her disapprovingly. "I said inexpensive clothes, not men's clothes. Wait..!" He stood up from behind his desk and walked towards the woman. "Are those the clothes of the poor fella I sent you to yesterday?"

She shrugged and looked away from them.

"Well. He no longer has any use for them, I suppose."

"Hm," said Lord Varys, sizing up the woman before them. "She's nothing special to look at. Rather old. She must be past childbearing age. No meat on her. Crude in movement…"

"If she makes an effort, she scrubs up well. But all that is beside the point, my friend," countered Lord Baelish. "Now tell me, Flame - has the news of the upcoming marriage between the Dothraki Kahl and the Targaryen princess-in-exile reached you? You must be overjoyed by the news."

Flame looked at the gentlemen for a moment and then "Ggfffttt!" spat on the floor.

"Less than charmed by the prospective, aaah..," said The Spider.

"I detest water into our blood!" Flame spoke. Her voice was throaty and deep, yet oddly melodious. She had a heavy Southern accent. Lord Varys began to understand a little better how she might entice her clients.

"Do you detest it enough to kill, dear?" The Spider looked up at her.

"I don't kill women."

"You mean you don't sleep with women?"

"I sleep with women. I don't kill women," said Flame.

"You can't get 'enflamed' from being with a woman?"

"Tcha!" Flame angrily held up her hands. "Listen, man. I. can. burn. women. I. don't. Understand?"

Lord Varys wasn't taken aback. "Aaah, a murdering prostitute with high moral standards. A rare gem indeed...well dear, my experience tells me that high moral standards have a price tag in these kinds of environments. I might have an offer for you later, that you will find hard to resist." He pressed the finger tips of both of his hands together.

"Tttchh!" scoffed Flame. "I resist!"

"The Dothraki are not known for their poetic use of language," said Lord Baelish apologetically.

"She's fiery in character. I give you that," Lord Varys smiled. "But now, let's see what you can do, dear."

"I don't perform. No audience." Flame crossed her arms and clacked her tongue at Lord Baelish.

"Don't worry; I've seen it all before," he said. "I'll leave you two to it. I have business elsewhere anyway and I trust that you will play nice?'

"Tttcchh!"

"I wasn't speaking to you, woman, keep your cool." Lord Baelish turned to Lord Varys and raised his eyebrow.

"I'm sure Flame and I will come to an arrangement," said the Spider.

"And in turn I'm sure that the Master of the Coin will compensate me liberally for losing a trusty source of income."

"Quite. Give him my warmest regards," Lord Varys replied.

"You just have and he thanks you for it!" The two men laughed - a sincere laugh this time.  
"It was a pleasure doing business. Enjoy the show." And with that, Lord Baelish left the room and closed the heavy oak door behind him.

"Hm," Lord Varys said to a closed door and then turned to face Flame. "How will we arrange this, my dear? If you are as legendary as they say you are, I assume that it will be unwise to ...ehm...enflame yourself on the bed?"

"Assist me," Flame commanded rather than asked. "This rug goes." Together they rolled up the rug and cleared a space on the slate floor tiles.

Varys sat down behind Lord Baelish' big oak desk and expectantly looked at Flame, who sat down on her knees on the cold tiles in front of the desk, glancing at Lord Varys as she did so.

"I pretend that you are not here," she said.

"In my line of work, that is actually a compliment, dear. Just do what you need to do." He leaned back in the chair.

"I keep my clothes on," she stated.

"It wouldn't make the slightest difference to me if you did or not," replied the Spider.

"You come near me and I burn you," she added.

"Enough with the warnings, girl. Just get on with it."

Flame closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. Then, she lifted her hand and combed it through her hair, loosening the braids and letting her hair flow wildly over her shoulders. She touched her neck and slowly, deliberately stroked downwards - across her bare throat, down her white blouse. She sighed as her hand cupped a breast, kneading it softly.

Varys rested his elbows on the desk. It seemed to him that the skin of the woman before him, which had been a dark olive teint just a few moments ago, now had a light and life to it. Various shades of yellow and orange seemed to ripple beneath the surface and as Flame's other hand began to travel down to her belly and further down, her skin began to emit a gentle glow.

She unbuttoned her blouse partially and her hand disappeared underneath. Flame's breathing became ragged now. The hand on her abdomen slid lower and lower until Flame moaned softly and pressed the hand into her.

The glow that she emitted began to intensify, until it seemed to Lord Varys that she was actually shining - emitting a faint fiery light.

Flame's hand traveled upwards a little to the waistband of the trousers and then down again, and up again - slowly as if she were unsure or unwilling. But then her hand disappeared underneath the waistband. For a moment her breathing stopped and the light around her seemed to gather underneath her skin once more, until a violent shower of sparks burst from her skin. She moaned deeply "ai, ale...ale," in her Dothraki tongue as bursts of sparks continued to shower off her. At times thin whispery flames danced on her skin, until finally "ai.. ai….Vorsakh!" she burst into a wild untamely fire. She shuddered and pressed into her touch. Slowly her breathing returned to normal and she opened her eyes. The fire that had so suddenly erupted, now petered down to a few little flames and some wisps of smoke. Soon it was extinguished completely. Particles of ash settled around her.

"Your coat," she said hoarsely.

"Yes, yes, of course," Lord Varys hastily stood and shrugged off his coat, and handed it to the woman in front of him. Flame's clothes, including the boots she had been wearing, had burnt clean off her and she was shivering, sitting naked on the cold slate tiles amidst the ashes.

"Satisfied?" she asked. "I don't ask clients often." She smiled wryly.

"Satisfied indeed. I think you are just the kind of present I would like to give a Targaryen princess on her wedding feast."

"Your offer? " asked Flame, as she stood and wrapped Varys' coat around her.

"I suggest that you get properly dressed, my dear, so I can show you exactly the kind of offer that is hard to refuse. If you own another poor bastard's pair of boots, I advise you to wear them. We'll be going to a place that isn't fit for women's sandals."

_A/N: Next up: Flame meets a blast from the past. The fuel will be gathered for the fire!_


	3. Step 3: Gather the Fuel

**Step 3: Gather the Fuel**

The darkness of the dungeons underneath the castle was dispersed by the flickering flame of a torch. Lord Varys used it to illuminate Flame's blindfolded face. He was keen to see every emotion that would soon be displayed on it.  
"We're deep under the earth in a chamber that only I know the way to. I have led you through this labyrinth in such a manner that you will not find the way in or out without my assistance. Remember that, girl, during the moments to come. Now take off the blindfold."  
As she did so, he handed her the torches. "Turn around and tell me what..tell me who you see?"

As Flame turned around, the light of the torch fell onto a chained up man. He was standing on his thin, spidery legs, his snowwhite skin and hair reflecting the torch light harshly. .

Lord Varys was pleased to see Flame's face twitch as she recognised this creature of darkness. He certainly caught the right bait.

"Hoyt.." she whispered.

"Flaaame," Hoyt drawled. "How lovely to see you. Haven't seen you since…."

"Sit!" she spat at him.

He ignored her. "Aaaah, that scent…. The scent of lavender and fear. How I have missed it. Ltth..! How I longed for it in these dark hours."

"Sit!" she repeated. He didn't react. Suddenly she kicked Hoyts legs from under him and he landed on the hard stone floor of the dungeon. The metal of his chains rattled and echoed in the dark dungeon halls.

Hoyt laughed a dry laugh. "Hah hah, still as fiery as ever!"

"I will kill!" she shouted, as she got ready to charge.

"Now, now, my dear," interrupted Lord Varys. "You will do no such thing. Remember where you are. I will leave you here to rot if you take away my currency..."

Flame froze and sharply turned towards Lord Varys. Hoyt's laugh echoed off the dark stone walls.

"Speak!" she shouted at Lord Varys. "Speak now, Spider!"

"I'm sure you want this..." he shivered at the sight of Hoyt, "this… man... quite dead, is that right? Well now, if you were to kill a certain Khaleesi-to-be, that will certainly be done. You will finally get to revenge little … Francesco, is it? "

A low grumble escaped Flame. She looked at the horrific, toothless smile on Hoyt's face and back to Lord Varys. "You know. How?"

"Aah, I know everything. It's my job, dear. I've got my skills, just as you have yours."

"Oh yesss," breathed Hoyt.

Flame kicked at him aimlessly in the darkness, not wanting to shine her light upon the monster again. A clanging of metal and a "Ooh, still fiery, lttthhh!" told her she didn't miss.

Lord Varys ignored it and continued: "And now my dear, we can help each other. I will undo a threat to the kingdom and this miserable mishap will be killed. Do we have a deal?" The light of the torch was dancing on his bald head. His little eyes peered sharply into hers.

There was a profound silence in the dungeons, only disturbed by the ragged breathing of Hoyt.

"I return to King's Landing to find this...slime. I know he is here. I know it. I feel it in my gut. And now I find him." Flame looked up to Lord Varys. "Deal, Spider, but I want this kill. My hands on his neck, you understand? You have skills and need, I have skills and need. We deal. I kill the woman, you let me kill the slime."

"Yesss, your hands on me! Ltthh. You will return to me, Lavender...," Hoyts eerie, hollow voice sounded from the dark.

"Deal," replied Lord Varys as he gestured for her to blindfold herself once more. He tossed a bundle of food and drink towards his prisoner and then led Flame out of the labyrinthian dungeons, leaving a madly laughing Hoyt behind them in the deep darkness.

_Next up: the beginnings of Rizzles; the new Khaleesi meets her destiny. The fireplace is set up._


	4. Step 4: Create the Fire Place

**Step 4: Create the fireplace**

In the days before her traveling company was ready to leave, Flame tried to return to the dungeons, of course. She frantically read every map of King's Landing that she could get her hands on. She visited every place that could be an entrance to that dark, awful underbelly of the castle, that held the man that she wanted to kill so desperately. She paid several charlatans proclaiming to be guides to the catacombs underneath the castle. But to no avail. The few paths they knew didn't lead deep enough into the dungeons.

And so, on the day that her party was to set off on their long journey south, she wasn't looking forward to the adventure. She was happy to return to her land, but she wasn't looking forward to her assignment: killing a woman - however lowly this foreign woman was for wanting to marry into Dothraki royalty and watering down their noble blood.

Her mother - a proud Dothraki - had always admonished her for violence against other girls. Flame may not have many standards left, but that was a standard she intended to uphold. It is for a good cause though, she told herself. The woman was going to die sooner rather than later anyway. A highborn enemy of King's Landing simply didn't stand much of a chance. And the kind of death that she provided would be a very pleasant one. Besides...her own hands would wring the life out of Hoyts body. The prospect made her shiver in anticipation. Finally. She was finally able to revenge her little brother. She was sure her mother would have approved of some violence against a fellow woman in this case.

She climbed into the carriage surrounded by crates of King's Landing food and clothes - all part of the gifts to the future Khaleesi. The swordsmen accompanying the carriage shouted their greetings to their families as they rode out of the gates.

* * *

"Tell Spider I arrived. We have deal. Don't forget!"

The swordsmen greeted Flame. They then bowed for the Khaleesi, who thanked Westeros for its gifts once more, and bid them adieu.

Flame bowed again for her new Khaleesi and then climbed upon the platform to join the other maids. "Halé," she shouted to them, letting them know she was Dothraki too.

"Halé"s were shouted back to her as the maides returned their gazes to the dancing mob of naked Dothraki boys. They weren't bothered by the new arrival. They were Dothraki; they weren't bothered anyhow.

Flame smiled at the scene. It felt good to be back. It was almost as if she had never left. The hot rays of the sun were beating down on her, she smelled the scent of coriander, cumin, oregano and rosemary of the feast's dishes, she could taste the warm and dusty desert with each breath she took and the haunting rhytms of her childhood flooded through her. She smiled. She was home. But she was crudely reminded of the reason she was here today.

"What deal?" sounded the voice of her new Khaleesi.

"Hm?" said Flame, before realizing she was supposed to act like a servant now. "Apology, Khaleesi?"

"You mentioned a deal with a spider?"

"Lord Spider. I am here. My family is there. He protects my family," said Flame. Or at least the honour of my dead family, she thought.

"Your family is important to you?" asked the Khaleesi as she sat herself back down onto her wooden throne, overlooking the festivities.

"Hm." Flame nodded.

"That sounds nice. Mine hasn't hesitated to sell me." The Khaleesi sighed. "No offense to your people, but if there had been a way not to marry the Kahl, I would certainly have taken it. My brother wants to rule the known lands..." She shielded her eyes against the sun and looked into the distance. "Sorry, I shouldn't talk so much with a servant. But I haven't been able to speak in my own tongue for weeks..."

Flame shook her head. She had thought that the Targaryen woman had wanted to marry into Dothraki royalty for her own power and fame. Yet as it turned out, this was just one more woman getting caught in the crossfire of men's quest for power. And now the woman was going to die. Perhaps just as well… What life was this Khaleesi going to look forward to? War, conspiracy, hatred, never feeling at home...

Flame sat down at her feet.

"What are they singing? It sounds rather...violent?" asked the Khaleesi.

Flame smiled at the whirling mass of Dothraki boys. The rhythmic singing and drumming was soothing to her soul. "Not violent. It is about the oasis."

"An oasis? A place in the desert with a water source and somewhat more vegetation than the surrounding lands?"

Flame frowned at the wordiness of her new Khaleesi. It must be a Targaryen thing. "Yes. Oasis is the woman. The man drinks and eats. Wedding song."

"Ah, and why are they throwing earthenware?"

"Then where?"

"The cans and plates?"

"Show they have enough. Plenty. They can throw and still have more in the tents? Like oasis. Always enough."

"Ah, they are expressing their wealth?"

Flame smiled. Something like that. Gods, this woman was naive. She looked up at her. The setting desert sun was behind her head like a fiery aura. She had a certain outlandish beauty to her. Her light hair and light skin and delicate features. It wouldn't altogether be unpleasant to..well...kill her. A physical relationship had to be established. The sooner the better.

Flame reached out to touch the Khaleesi's leg. It startled her.

"Apology," said Flame. "You look sad."

"Hmm…You're observant. Do you share my interest in the interpretation of facial expressions?"

At the blank stare of Flame, she continued. "Yes, I'm feeling sad. I don't know. It's nice...the festivities. The gifts. But I don't know. I've dreamt of my wedding since I was a little girl, like all little girls do. And my dream was nothing like this." She paused a few moments while a big fire was started and several Dothraki women joined the men in their dance. "It's silly, but... I wanted to have a wedding on top of one of the Fourteen Fires vulcanoes…"

Flame laughed. "You burn!"

"Well, no, there are two that are relatively inactive. And I would consult a septa about the possibility of an outbreak before the wedding of course." She looked away in the distance. "Didn't you dream of your wedding when you were a little girl?"

"Never the little girl," said Flame, swatting at a sandfly.

"What did you dream of though, when you were young?"

"You want to know? Honest?"

"Yes. Tell me honestly." The Khaleesi looked at her with her sincere green eyes. Like dragon eyes, thought Flame.

"Okay. I tell you. I dream of flying. I dream of flying with the dragons."

"On your wedding day?"

"No, I don't dream of the wedding. I dream of the dragons, always."

Flame thought this would make the Khaleesi laugh at her, like so many had laughed at her dragon dreams before. Everyone knew the dragons were dead. It was childish to dream, let alone talk about them.  
But the Khaleesi didn't laugh at Flame. Instead Flame saw something unfathomable sparkle deep in the eyes - deep in the soul - of the other woman.

"Come with me to my tent after the festivities," the Khaleesi said. "You will become my personal maid. I like that I can speak in my own tongue to you. You can teach me about the culture and the language."

"And more." Flame looked directly into her Khaleesi's dragon eyes.

"No doubt," the Khaleesi smiled and looked at the festivities again. The Kahl, her husband, was being carried around the fire on a wooden platform.

"I hope they will not be carrying me around like that?" asked the Khaleesi.

"This is men's fertility dance. Your fertility is different, private. The feast is in the tent with just women. I prepare you."

"Thank you." The Khaleesi held out her hand to Flame. "I'm glad you were presented to me. At least some good has come out of this awful wedding."

Flame lightly ran her fingers over the offered hand and then sat closer to the throne, leaning her bare arms against the shins of her Khaleesi, her prey.

_A/N: I'm very curious to know if you'd like to read more. Please review!_  
_Next up: the kindling will be piled onto the fire place. Mmmm ;-)_


	5. Step 5: Add Kindling to the Fire Place

_Sorry about the long wait. I hope some of you are still interested!_

* * *

**Step 5: Pile Kindling onto the fire place**

"Undo my belt." Dorothea stood in the middle of her tent. She felt as if the dust, of this ratched place the Dothraki called home, was everywhere. She was sure that her lungs were filled with the hot sand particles too. She wanted nothing more than a cool bath and the company of the one person who spoke her tongue.

The Dothraki maid that was given to her by Westeros undid her belt and flung it onto a nearby case.

"Careful. That is a valuable belt," she admonished. She stood still for a while, waiting for the maid, but the maid was clearly waiting for new orders.

"My garments?" she asked.

"Your garments," stated the maid.

"Take them off?"

"Oh?" The woman had clearly never been a personal maid before. She began to roughly pull at the garments, almost ripping them off her.

"So...you dream about dragons?" Dorothea asked, hoping to break the ice a little.

"Always."

"What intrigues you about them?"

"Everything."

"Tell me." Dorothea held up her arms to help the maid take off the garments.

"They are fearless. They fly. They... " she swallowed and looked away. "They do not burn."

"Yes, that is what they say. They can't burn. The hottest fires, even vulcano fires, cannot burn them… Did you know that my brother is the Last Dragon?"

The fiery eyes of the maid opened wide. "You are sister of dragons?"

"The men of my House, the Targaryen House, are called Dragons. Legend says that they are impervious to fire too."

"Impervus?"

"Unable to be burnt. Just like dragons are unable to be burnt. That's what the legend says."

The maid sighed. Clearly the legend made an impact upon her. She removed the garments in a much gentler way now.

"They say there are no more dragons, but I've heard that there are still some dragon eggs in the world."

"Where?"

"They aren't sure. Dragon eggs used to be the best present to give to someone. Many were given as treasures to kings and queens. Wouldn't it be great to own a dragon's egg?"

"The best."

Dorothea stepped out of her under garments and stepped into the bath. As she slid into the cool

water, she felt the eyes of the Dothraki maid on her.

"Your skin is milk", the maid said. Her voice was rough and deep.

"I assume you are referring to the colour of my skin?"

"Yes the colour is milk."

The Khaleesi didn't know if the maid meant to make me a compliment or that she disapproved. There was a continuous hint of disdain in her voice.

"What is the word for milk in Dothraki?"

"Lamekh."

"Lemesh", she tasted the word.

"LAmekh."

"LAmesh."

"LAMEKH!"

Dorothea sighed. She didn't think she would ever get the hang of this tongue. "Wash my hair", she ordered.

The woman moved behind her and untied the ribbons roughly. Just as the Khaleesi wanted to admonish her for the roughness, the maid's fingers raked through her hair and grazed her scalp. A shiver ran down the length of her spine.

"You have not been a personal maid before?" Dorothea asked.

"No." The long fingers continued to massage her scalp.

"Hm."

"I do it wrong?" The voice held equal notes of worry and threat.

"Not wrong, just… It feels like you've never washed someone's hair before."

"Correct."

"So what have you been doing before? What is your trade?"

"Pleasure," was the throaty reply.

"Beg your pardon?"

"I pleasure. They pay, I pleasure."

"You were a whore?"

"No. Whore is just taken." Her hand slid down around the neck of the Khaleesi.

"They don't take me. I take them. I give pleasure." The fingers slid downwards and casually circled a nipple.

The shivers multiplied. "Get the soap," she ordered. She stood up and let the water ripple off her body.

The fiery eyes travelled down the length of her body. "Lamekh. Lamekh ita." Her hands rubbed the soap to a thick lather.

"Lamekh," repeated the Khaleesi.

"Sek... lamekh," as the soapy hands massaged her face, carefully. She closed her eyes. The hands worked down her neck, were lathered up once more and travelled downwards.

"Lamekh ita, warm milk. Dranekh, ishis…"

"Pardon?" she didn't open her eyes.

"Dranekh, perhaps… milk from here." The hands cupped her breast and a finger grazed the nipple.

"Breast milk?"

"Sek. Dranekh."

"Dranesh. Oh!" A pinch of her nipple.

"DraneKH." As her breasts were gently massaged.

"Dranekh."

"Sek." The hands were lathered up again and traveled down her body. It felt like her hands were everywhere, except for the one place where they were needed.

"Dranekh afazh."

"Dranekh afas." One hand grabbed her buttock as another slid down her belly.

"Afazh. Hot."

"Afaz." Unable to maintain balance, she leaned into the woman, wrapped her arms around her neck and laid her head on her shoulder.

"AfaZH. Dranekh afazh, Khaleesi."

"Afaaah," One finger found it's way to the throbbing spot between her legs. She moaned into the neck of the woman and thrust her hips. Faster and faster she moved as the finger made circular movements. Then waves of pleasure crashed over her and her legs gave way. The woman held her up with one arm, while still caressing her with the other. Shuddering, she pressed herself against the maid.

"So you know about bringing pleasure to women," she whispered into the dark curls.

"Evidence."

"Yes...evidently…." she struggled to catch her breath. "What do you know about pleasuring a man?"

"Everything." It sounded as arrogant as it sounded truthful.

"Good." She leaned back and looked into the eyes of the fiery woman. "You will teach me. I want to learn how to please the Khal."

The answer was simple: "Deal."

* * *

_The next step will be to add tinder to the kindle. I'm sure Flame knows just how to do that ;-)_


End file.
